


Redlight

by thebicyclefandom



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Closet Sex, M/M, Smut, Thumb-sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebicyclefandom/pseuds/thebicyclefandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint inadvertently distracts most of the op room and Coulson needs to take a break from work sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coulsons-hawk (allyoop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoop/gifts).



> Welcome to another fic conjured from the depths of the ridiculous but productive midnight hour.
> 
> This is entirely allyoop's fault. These things are ALWAYS allyoop's fault.
> 
> Non-con warning to stay on the safe side, probably falls more into dubcon.  
> If you have any questions on op rooms (or ship bridges) and just how dark they are, hit me up. The answer is mostly just "very dark", though.)

Clint probably didn't realise he was doing it. Clint had a very distinctive vibe when he was being mock-seductive.

Phil knew he wasn't the only one who noticed. He could see Maria, her mouth hanging slightly open, and Natasha's head kept bobbing up from the report she was supposed to be reading. In fact, everyone who had the slightest inclination towards men was fidgeting, twitching, eyes and heads flicking towards Clint and away again.

Phil could see this because Phil was making a determined effort to look anywhere but at Clint. He lasted two minutes and six seconds.

He cracked.

Clint stood in silhouette, his face softly illuminated by red light of the screen he was watching, the only source of light in the blacked out op room. In the inky dark he cut a dramatic figure, but for once it wasn't his body that was causing the disruption. Instead, everyone's focus was on his mouth.

As Phil watched, Clint's lips brushed lightly over the skin of his thumb. His tongue flicked out, barely visible, to flick over the smooth nail. He twisted his hand and ran the pad of the thumb across the front of his teeth, his lips pursing at the end to suck on it. His thumb lightly dragged his bottom lip open before caressing the edge of it.

It was hypnotising. Well, if hypnotising meant more erotic than most porn.

Phil tore his gaze away as forcefully as he could whilst maintaining his composure. Natasha was licking her lips and...was Maria blushing? As Clint's handler, Phil realised, it was probably one of his duties to stop Clint from preventing everyone else doing their jobs.

He was reluctant to do so partly because the view was enjoyable and partly because he wasn't entirely sure how his body was going to react if he got too close. However, if he didn't intervene he was likely to get run in by Fury, so he took a deep breath and made his way over.

Clint noticed his approach immediately and dropped his hand, and the room seemed to let out a silent sigh. The atmosphere relaxed a little, paper started rustling and keys started tapping. Nat turned a page on the report for the first time in several minutes. Maria cleared her throat quietly and walked deliberately to the other side of the room. Clint sensed the change and glanced around before settling his confused gaze on Phil.

Phil beckoned Clint to follow him with the smallest of hand movements, wondering what kind of excuse he was going to make. As usual, Clint's idle movements had muddied his thoughts. He fervently wished his hormones would dissipate before he gave in to the urge to jump Clint in the hallway.

His step faltered slightly as he led the way out of the chamber. That was new. While he had often conceded - to himself - that Clint was attractive, he'd never felt attracted to him.

...No, that was a lie. Phil had been attracted to Clint for months. His thoughts had simply never been this explicit.

He paused in the hallway, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Clint was two steps behind him. He needed to an excuse.

"Sir?" Clint inquired warily, and Phil decided to tell him the truth. Well, he didn't decide, he simply realised he wasn't in the kind of mindset that could pull off a lie. Hell, he wasn't in the mindset to invent one.

"You're a distraction," Phil said bluntly. Clint tilted his head, still looking confused.

"I wasn't even talking, for once."

"I know. Your mouth was otherwise occupied." Clint blinked in surprise, and Phil sighed wearily. "Barton, more than half the op room was watching you chew on your thumb. I needed to get you out of there before you inadvertently set us back a week in unfinished work." Clint scrutinized him, trying to make sense of what Phil was saying.

"So...you _want_ me to talk?" Clint verified bemusedly, a mischevous smile tugging at his lips.

"It's much easier to tune out your nattering than your attempts to make out with your hand."

"What if I talk dirty?"

"Please don't." Phil ensured his tone was unimpressed, although he had an entirely different reason. He wasn't sure how long he could stay in the room if Clint followed through on that threat. He was sure it wouldn't be very long.

Clint's face seemed to harden, just a little. Just enough for Phil to realise that he'd retreated behind his guard.

Had Clint actually _meant_ that?

Well, there was one way to see. "At least," Phil added, "not in the ops room." He turned on his heels and strode back to his post, but in his peripheral vision he saw Clint's smirk return.

Just as he made the door, Clint brushed in close. Coulson froze as Clint's low voice murmured, "Well, maybe there's something else I can do with my mouth in there."

It was as though someone filled him with hot water. His stomach lurched, and he could see Clint grin as he overtook Phil on the way into the dark room. Now he was definitely giving off his seductive vibe.

Phil was careful to keep his face neutral as he slowly felt his way around the ops room. His night vision was ruined, but just because he couldn't see anyone, it didn't mean no one could see him as he passed behind screens which emitted the faintest glow of red. He followed Maria's example and stood on the opposite side of the room from Clint's monitor, in the deepest shadows. Clint's machine, a weapons guidance unit, was a huge rectangular brick of a thing, and Phil was glad because it hid Clint entirely from his line of sight.

It didn't seem to help. He internally cursed his role as a supervisor in this training simulation; he had nothing to concentrate on. His role was simply to observe, which was second nature to him, leaving his mind free to wander. In this case, it left his mind free to play memories on repeat.

Over and over, Clint's lips, his teeth, his tongue, his teasing words on Phil's skin. In the darkness of the op room, far away from any illuminated screens, Phil knew he was barely visible. He couldn't be more grateful; every person in the room was trained in observation and behaviour. His arousal would be picked up in a heartbeat with the lights on.

He controlled his breathing, ignoring the heat that was located somewhere near his intestines. The loop continued though, the heat intensifying as it continued south.

He had to get this out of his system. It as making him nigh unable to function. Carefully keeping his respiration even, he made his way back to the door.

Phil was barely able to keep his steps unhurried and inaudible. Naturally, he didn't notice Clint slip from his booth to stalk after him. He didn't feel Clint's eyes on him as Phil's footsteps quickened. He didn't see them widen in alarm as Clint took in the tight, coiled tension Phil emanated, visible even through Phil's suit.

Phil picked a broom cupboard. The janitors never cleaned during the day, the corridor he was in was usually empty and broom cupboards muffled sounds better than bathrooms.

Before he reached his target, he was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. He whirled in shock to find Clint, lips quirked in thought as he scanned Phil's face. His pupils flitted too fast to follow, but Phil knew what their path would reveal. Coloured cheeks and ears, dry lips, uneven breaths. Dilated pupils under hooded eyes. Phil knew the signs, but he was long past saving his dignity, so he waited for Clint to say something, to turn away in disgust or nod discreetly or _something_.

But still Clint searched him, slowing now, gaze lingering in unusual places. As he watched the pulse fluttering in Phil's throat, his lips parted, but he hesitated for a second before speaking.

"Is - you didn't tell me that you were of the ones I was distracting," he said, sounding less composed than usual.

"You have no idea, do you?" Phil groaned. Clint flushed and Phil felt like some cosmic force was against him. He drew his eyes to the ceiling, battling the need to mount Clint against the wall.

"What are you talking about?" Clint asked, and Phil ran a slippery palm over his face.

"Clint." His voice cracked on the name. "You're built like a model, your habits usually involve your mouth or your hand and you grin like the devil. And then you come and -" and Phil bit back the rest of the question as he remembered Clint's teasing. He waved away the rest of his sentence as Clint went bright red, saying instead, "Look, I really have to go. Just go back to the exercise, I'll be there in ten."

He started back down the corridor before Clint could reply. He wrenched the closet door open the moment it was in reach and lurched through it.

As he pulled it shut, the door was caught by another hand. The handle slipped from his sweating fingers as Clint held it open long enough to slide inside next to Phil. Time appeared to dilate for the fraction of a second it took Clint to noiselessly shut them in. Then Clint moved, and Phil's body caught fire.

Clint slammed him against the back wall, dislodging brooms and mops, and Phil lost his balance as his left heel caught on the back of a bucket. He couldn't fall, though, not when his body was held in place firmly by Clint's. Clint's mouth met his, hot and supple and clever and quick and _needing_ , and it was accompanied by equally eager hands, tugging urgently at his jacket, pulling impatiently at his tie. Clint took to Phil like a starving man to a hot meal. Clint kicked the bucket from under Phil's foot so that he could pin Phil to the wall by his hips. He rolled them against Phil's, and Phil was already so close to finished.

 _This shouldn't be happening_ , a small but forceful voice piped up, and Phil wanted to cry _why now?_. He tried to disregard it, but it nagged, _you're his handler. You shouldn't be taking advantage of your charge. You're going to regret this._

As Clint came up for air, Phil broke the kiss - was it even a kiss? It felt more intimate than that - and tried to break contact.

"Clint," he tried, but his voice was breathy and Clint's mouth was now racing down his jawline, down grooves of his neck, and this wasn't working. " _Clint_ ," he said again, and it came out more sternly this time. Clint hummed into his neck in reply, and /damn/. It brought on a wave of dizziness that made talking hard. He persisted anyway. "Agent Barton, we have to stop."

Clint's hands changed rhythm, moving more slowly and more calmly but also more deliberately, and now it was _worse_. Now Phil could feel the calluses on the tips of Clint's fingers on their journey, and his flimsy business shirt did nothing to dampen the sensation.

"I don't want to force you," Clint murmured carefully into Phil's neck, "but I really think you need this." His hands massaged their way down Phil's abdomen, until they were dangerously low. "I think I've seen you go home, twice? In three months? Guessing you have more suits at work than in your wardrobe. There's an ironing board in your office."

"What's your point?" Phil exhaled as Clint deftly unbuckled his belt.

"I know you, Coulson. You'd never jack off at work. You've bottled _this_ ," and Clint punctuated it by scraping his teeth along Phil's clavicle, "for over a month. Not sure how you function. Well," and Phil could feel Clint's smile, feel Clint's tongue trace it's way back up his neck to stop by his ear. "Maybe this is proof you don't."

Phil stifled a cry as Clint softly bit his ear, choosing the moment to unbutton Phil's trousers and slip a hand under the zip. He couldn't hold the next one as Clint rubbed his erection with one hand, his other sliding under his work shirt and feeling it's way up Phil's back. Clint's lips were on his in an instant, sucking the sound from him. Phil could feel Clint's grunts resonating through their joined mouths but lost track of them as Clint stroked and squeezed and sucked.

Without warning, Phil was gone, nothing but heat and the distant observation that he'd need to stop at his office for a change of clothes. Clint's hand softened and came to a rest, his mouth savouring the last moments of their kiss, and for a moment they simply leaned against the wall as their breathing returned to normal. Phil could feel Clint's hard-on against his hip, but Clint didn't seem to care. He casually straightened up, releasing Phil from against the wall.

Phil awkwardly avoided Clint's eyes as he fixed his attire. In his peripheral vision, he saw Clint ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it back into its usual shape as Phil straightened his jacket. When they were presentable, Phil finally asked.

"What about you?"

Clint's smile was smouldering, and Phil felt a shiver down his spine. "I should be fine for now, but I might need your help some time this evening. If you think you can stop working for half an hour."

"I think I can make an exception."


End file.
